


Strawberries

by Gem_Gem



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angry John, Awkward Conversations, Awkward First Times, Awkward Sexual Situations, Awkwardness, Dry Humping, Dubious Consent, Kissing, Love Bites, M/M, Naive Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Sharing a Bed, Sharing a Room, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good, Swearing, Two Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-24 01:44:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6137017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gem_Gem/pseuds/Gem_Gem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A gift for the leap year</p><p>...even if it's late. I tried to have it done on time, I really did!</p><p>I apologise for any mistakes <3</p><p>P.S I'm lazy when it comes to tags. Let me know if this needs anymore.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A gift for the leap year
> 
> ...even if it's late. I tried to have it done on time, I really did!
> 
> I apologise for any mistakes <3
> 
> P.S I'm lazy when it comes to tags. Let me know if this needs anymore.

The smell of strawberries filled John’s nose as he turned to push into the slender, warm body beside him, and he stirred a little with a smile, half awake, and pushed into the soft ringlets to inhale the scent again. The feminine smell was pleasantly cloying, sending ripples of arousal down his spine and throughout his pelvis and crotch in a growing, branching flow of tingles, making his penis throb and thicken in eagerness. He vaguely remembered the scent but couldn’t place a face to it and so his subconscious created the mental image of a tall and slim woman with short dark hair and exotic eyes instead, twisting fantasy with reality as he pressed into the plump backside and slopping back near to him. John curled an arm around a warm and shifting waist, and kissed the back of a soft nape, nosing small coils out of the way, and grinned dopily when there was a faint sniff of awareness in reply as they awoke from sleep. 

It was dark in the room when he opened his eyes a little, too dark to see clearly, and John reached further over the waist next to him to push his hand up a clothed, toned and twitching stomach, petting gently and teasingly with yet another kiss to the nape in front of his lips. John didn’t think he had a type of woman that he went for the most, but as he rubbed and gently stroked the covered navel under his fingertips, and arched his erection into the warm, pert bottom at his crotch, John wondered if he’d actually found one. The smell of fruit had been the first thing to rouse him but the body was what was driving him onward, and he let out a quiet, deep moan, adjusting his position to kiss his way around the neck and up to an ear hidden amongst soft curls.

“Okay?” John whispered breathily, waiting for the nod of reply before he kissed and bit at the small lobe, tugging on it with his lips with a winding and overcome grin. Smearing his mouth down the length of a hot, slender neck, John exhaled excitedly and slid his tongue over a patch of thrumming skin, sucking it into his mouth to mark in the next second with a spiral of arousal. 

As John trailed bruises up to the edge of a tensing jaw, he smoothed his hand up towards the heaving chest but jolted in surprise and playfulness when wrist was quickly gripped and his hand was replaced back to the stomach, stopping his exploration. John hummed in a playfully sullen tone, pushing his body up against theirs and rocking his cock between their buttocks, but kept his hand where it had been placed, tracing around the covered navel again. After three pushes of his hips, rubbing his ever-growing erection into the plush and shapely bottom next to him, John reached down with his other hand to cup and squeeze the backside as well, happy when he was allowed to do so.

Once John had enjoyed it from on top of the clothes, he slowly reached to dip his fingers under the waistband to touch the naked, almost scorching skin beneath, “Can I?” he asked in a husky murmur, kissing up an elegant cheek, and leaned a little more over the slender form to reach the corner of a soft, luxurious, and pleasing mouth. “Hm?—Give me a kiss.”

John smirked at the almost shy, hesitant and anxious turning of the head so he could slant his mouth to the one beneath him, and he kissed gently at first and then with more passion and arousal when the plush mouth pursed in response, returning the kissing with a full body tremble and a hot breath. John groaned happily as he then pushed his hand under the waistband to cup a handful of supple, soft skin, mapping the expanse of it by spreading his fingers out to try and encompass the whole buttock. He was a big fan of the curved bottoms of women, and he stroked, kneaded and squeezed it enthusiastically, wondering what it would feel like to slip his cock up the soft cleft with a lustful expression.

The fervent desire to do so wouldn’t leave his mind after that, and as he licked down over the thundering pulse in the straining throat, he brought both of his hands to the waistband, easing it down to rest at the underside of the round bottom while shushing the slightly frantically shy scramble of long fingered hands. The sensation of the digits grasping at his wrists triggered some vague thought and memory in the back of his mind, but it was hazy and obscured by the building fog of arousal, and so John merely pushed it away.

“Just to here, okay?” John he soothed throatily, nipping at a shifting shoulder. Once John received a nod in reply, he pushed up the top enclosing the bowed and flexing back, and rubbed bodily up against it, rutting his covered erection into, and then between, the buttocks in a suggestive and excited manner. “You feel so good…”

Freeing his penis a few moments later, John moaned into the crook of the sweet smelling neck and trailed the sticky moisture of pre-ejaculate along suddenly trembling hips, which he grasped in the next moment to gently angle back against him, making the slid easier and pushing his dick further between the tensing buttocks. The feeling was highly stimulating, flushing his entire body with burning pleasure, and John rutted a little harder, rolling zealously into a few of the thrusts before he reached around to stroke up the lean stomach again, edging toward the juddering chest. He was pushed meekly back down with a quivering hand, but the pressure behind it was light, and John smirked friskily, sucking another patch of skin at the arching neck to distract them and then slyly slipped his hand up and under to touch bare skin, sliding his fingers over the bumps of a flexing abdomen to quickly palm at the torso.

John froze when his hand met a flat, hot, heaving chest, and pulled his head up when the body beside him stiffened in reaction. He traced the lines of pectoral muscles and then yanked his hand back, scrambling for the bedside light with sudden long and panicky fingers trying to prevent him from finding the switch. Once the entire room was dowsed with light, John squinted roughly with a hiss and peered through his bleary and tearing vision to be faced with Sherlock, who was grimacing deeply and covering his eyes with one failing hand. John rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand and then growled angrily, smacking Sherlock’s shoulder hard enough to jar the younger man into the mattress and then shuffling violently backwards, tucking himself away with a flaming face.

“What the fuck, Sherlock!” John shouted, dizzy from the rush of blood to his cheeks. “You absolute bellend!”

“I can explain,” Sherlock said quickly, but at John’s expectant and angry expression he winced and cleared his throat, sitting up a little, “All right, maybe I can’t—”

“Oh my God,” John muttered, covering his face and then pushing further away from Sherlock, cringing when he noticed the state of Sherlock’s throat, “Oh my fucking God—Why did you let me do that? Why didn’t you say something? Why the fuck did you think it was okay to just let me think that you were…that...” John threw his hands up and scrubbed at his hair roughly. “Why the bloody hell do you smell of strawberries? – More to the point, why are you in the bed with me?”

Sherlock blinked and then pointedly looked around, gesturing to the unfamiliar room, “Because we had to share – And I had to use the shampoo of the lovely Mrs Parkinson whose B&B we are staying at. So, if you could please keep your voice down—”

“Excuse me? Keep my voice down?” John furiously exclaimed, glaring at Sherlock wincing face and cowering figure as he leaned over to point a rigid, shaking finger at him. “Fuck you.”

“I can understand your anger, John, but really, if you could just quieten down.”

John grabbed Sherlock by the collar of his t-shirt heatedly, “Oh, you can, can you? – Do you have any idea what you’ve done? What you let me do?—Shit. You…you knew, didn’t you? You knew that I thought you were someone else. That’s why you kept me from touching you so much and didn’t utter a single fucking sound!”

“I realise that it all seems… unreservedly bad,” Sherlock told him awkwardly, lifting his hands in a show of surrender and submissiveness, “and that I crossed some line and it was…not good, but I—”

“There is no “but,” Sherlock,” John cut in, ignoring the extra layer of flush to his cheeks as he realised that Sherlock had yet to pull up his pyjama bottoms and his backside was still on display. “I kissed you, for God’s sake!”

“Amongst other things,” Sherlock agreed with a loose, nervous shrug.

John’s eye twitched, “You’re adding insult to injury now. You think what you’re saying is helping matters?”

Sherlock shook his head and swallowed, pursing his mouth and clearing his throat again, “…I’m sorry.”

John shoved Sherlock away roughly and sat back, rubbing his temples, amazed that he was still sporting a rather impressive erection, “…What were you thinking? Did you think this was okay to do? – You literally just took advantage of me, Sherlock.”

“What? No…I…that’s not what I…” Sherlock stammered, spluttering and looking guilty and scared and confused. “That’s not what I wanted. I just…you…you started to…and I…I thought for a moment that you…”

John frowned over at him, “What?”

“I…I…just—God, I don’t know,” Sherlock huffed pushing back his curls in frustration, skittish and downtrodden, “I’m sorry…”

“I can’t believe you’d do this,” John muttered after several seconds of tense silence, shifting with unease, “Do you…is there anything you want to tell me?”

Sherlock glanced at John from the corner of his eyes and then fiercely shook his head, “No.”

“No? You sure? After all that, you have nothing you want to tell me?” John scoffed. “Nothing at all?—Sherlock, you let me think, let me pretend, that you were a woman, and kept me from finding out that you weren’t. What was your reason? – Christ you must have known how this would have ended?”

“Yes,” Sherlock admitted with a twisting expression. “It…crossed my mind. Fleetingly.”

“So why did you do it?”

Sherlock sighed loudly and clenched his jaw, “I don’t know!”

“How can you not know?” John argued crossly, hitting the mattress with one of his hands.

Sherlock glowered down at the bed, flitting his eyes over the distance between them, and didn’t answer him, so John stared at him until the anger had dissipated somewhat, and then reached over to turn the light back off, pitching everything into darkness again. In the dark, John’s other senses heightened, and he inhaled a rush of strawberries and spicy musk from Sherlock’s presence, the undertone scent of masculine sweat and arousal so obvious to John at that moment, that he wondered how he hadn’t have noticed it beforehand. John’s own musky scent was hot and invading, billowing from the tented bulge of his pyjama trousers, and he swallowed thickly with a furrowed brow at how hard he still was.

As he remained kneeling close to Sherlock’s body, John listened to Sherlock breathing and oddly, stupidly, let a sudden, arousal driven idea grow in his mind, egged on by the rhythmic throb of his cock. He reached out, found Sherlock’s face in the dark, and swooped in to kiss him without explanation, turning it deep and frenzied with a harsh breath through his nose, cupping Sherlock’s jaw to better angle him into it. They separated with an overly moist sound and as Sherlock leaned in for another kiss, John manhandled him onto his side again, and then onto his stomach, yanking his pyjama bottoms down to his ankles and bunching the t-shirt he wore up against his shoulders. John couldn’t see the exposed skin of Sherlock’s body, but he stared down anyway, visualising the slender form of the woman he’d imagined before in Sherlock’s place and feeling only slightly guilty for doing so.

When he freed his erection again, John sighed aloud and stroked himself for a few moments, unsure about everything but too determined and horny to turn back, and then surged down to push himself between Sherlock’s arse cheeks, undulating his entire body to rub the length of his shaft against the intimate clenched and fluttering rumple of skin he found there. Sherlock tensed silently at the sensation and John leaned over him, rocking and rutting impatiently against his backside with rough panting breaths, giving in to the impulse to bite and kiss and lick the nape of Sherlock’s neck in the next few seconds.

“You can make noises now,” John murmured into the curls at the back of his head, thrusting a little harder, making sure to rub the head of his penis into Sherlock’s lower back.

Sherlock went taut with nervousness and then groaned deeply and suddenly in reply, the loud, resonating sound only making John work harder, even as the mental image of the woman in his mind gave way to the real person he was grinding against. John tipped back his hips, angled Sherlock’s waist, and smeared and rutted against his perineum with a series of hot, moist and wanton pushes, grinning wildly in the dark at Sherlock squirming buck and wheezing gasp. The smell of strawberries was still present but was slowly overshadowed by the musk of them both as they moved together against the bed, John’s hands gripping and smoothing over Sherlock’s back and arms, and around his sides to touch his contracting stomach. 

Sherlock was grunting, moaning and purring with each sharp or teasing thrust of John’s hips, and John swallowed thickly, adjusting his position, “God…” he moaned, mashing his mouth to Sherlock’s cheek, listening to him pant heavily in growing delight. “I’m gonna come up your back.”

“Fuck,” Sherlock whimpered gutturally, angling his head to John.

John felt Sherlock’s backside tense with a shudder, squeezing his cock, and blindly sought out Sherlock’s mouth with a breathy exhale, making sure to rub himself from just behind Sherlock’s pert and drawing up scrotum, to the cleft of his arse, until Sherlock was mewling and hissing through his teeth in oncoming climax. John smirked and sucked up another mouthful of skin from Sherlock’s neck roughly, biting down just as he reached to unexpectedly press the tips of his fingers between Sherlock’s legs to eagerly stroke at his perineum and tip him over the edge, holding on to him and rubbing him through his orgasm, dizzy with arousal and pride when Sherlock cried out brokenly in overwhelming satisfaction. 

The building sizzling pleasure that had been growing throughout, was beginning to coil tight and impending at the base of John’s penis, and he thrust between Sherlock’s contracting buttocks for several moments, only taking himself in hand when Sherlock exhaled shakily and went limp and lethargic. John groaned and kissed along Sherlock’s slaw jaw, breathing in the smell of strawberries, musk and ejaculate as he pulled away and hovered above Sherlock, stroking himself hard and quick to hastily and intensely spill up his back in hard pulses, blinded by how powerful his own orgasm was. The sound of his ejaculate missing Sherlock’s body and hitting the bedding was swallowed by John’s booming growl of gratification, and he shifted back down to smear the oozing, spurting head of his cock into Sherlock’s lower back with a rumbling moan, painting Sherlock’s skin with his essence until Sherlock whined lowly in enthusiasm at the back of his throat.

When John stumbled down beside Sherlock on the bed, spent and shaking, he licked his dry lips and huffed dazedly, reaching across to claim Sherlock’s limply curled fingers with his, “…Bloody strawberries,” he slurred and stared into the darkness, unwilling to fully acknowledge what they’d done, even as Sherlock clasped their hands together tighter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of you wanted a morning after. HERE IT IS!
> 
> Sorry it's short but I really didn't plan for this to be anymore than a one shot haha
> 
> Hope you like it!

Sherlock continued to pack away his things as he finally heard John stir from sleep and yawn in the bed behind him, and grimaced awkwardly with a hard swallow, sensing the moment John looked at Sherlock’s back by the rising hairs on his damp nape. Sherlock had washed and dressed early that morning, cleaning the memory of their night of passion away from the skin of his back and shoulders, and so his hair was still faintly damp because of it, clinging uncomfortably to his ears, temples and neck. The scent of strawberries was absent from the wet ringlets as Sherlock had forgone the shampoo, spending most of his time in the shower scrubbing his skin raw with the temperature turned up and his head bowed in shame. Sherlock vaguely wondered if he’d ever be able to eat strawberries or have strawberry jam ever again without thinking about what they’d done. 

The litter of love bites scattered up his throat throbbed in time with his racing heart as John nosily slipped from the bed and padded over, the sounds of his footfalls making the hair at the back of Sherlock’s neck to stand on end even further. John smelt like musk and something immensely masculine and familiar, and Sherlock tried not to savour it, roughly pressing down on his folded clothes in an absentminded attempt to squeeze them further into the case. Unable to knock away the memories of the night before, Sherlock remembered the scent of John’s arousal with a shifting expression and violently shook his head.

“…What time is it?” John asked, voice thick with sleep, and Sherlock suppressed the shiver it automatically induced.

“Eight,” Sherlock intoned in his most blank and emotionless tone, shooting a quick glance sideways as John moved to pause beside him. John wasn’t looking at him, but was instead regarding the neatly folded clothes of Sherlock’s suitcase, his brow furrowed and his mouth pursed. 

Idly, John inhaled deeply and tilted his head as he took a moment and then spoke, “All packed then?” 

Sherlock frowned and gestured meaningfully to his case in an irritated fashion, “Obviously.”

“Hm. I better do the same,” John murmured, and as he turned to walk from Sherlock’s side he looked up into Sherlock’s face and cupped a handful of Sherlock’s bottom with a twitch of his eyebrow and a suggestive look. “We taking the train back?”

Stunned and suddenly flushed hot, Sherlock stared after him unblinkingly and then took an unsteady breath, “John…”

“Stupid question, I know,” John replied and began undressing without so much as a slight hesitation, the muscles of his back flexing and the scar at his shoulder catching the morning light streaming in from the mussed curtains, “I only ask really because I was thinking we could possibly linger around a bit? It’s nice here. – I love London, but it’s always nice to get away for a bit, don’t you think?”

“I…yes, I do, but…” Sherlock stammered, tongue-tied and flustered, the bundle of socks in his wringing and squeezing hands creaking with strain. He glanced down at them and then shoved them into his case with a blush, blinking rapidly and flitting his gaze between the bed and John.

John strutted nude to his own suitcase, pulling out some fresh clothes, “I’m sure Mrs Parkinson won’t mind if we leave our things here. Do some sightseeing. – Won’t be for long, and we could catch a late train back home. Which would be lovely, actually. There won’t be many people on then. Be Just us.” 

“Just us,” Sherlock repeated inanely with a fuzzy brain and a thick tongue, his eyes wide at the sight of John’s naked back. “I…I don’t…”

John turned around once he’d pulled on his underwear and jeans, doing up the zip with an arched eyebrow, “Don’t what?”

A jumble of nonsensical words tumbled from his throat in response and he pressed his eyes closed at John’s quirking grin, “What are you doing?” he snapped through his clenched teeth, ruffling his damp hair agitatedly and turning away to face his suitcase again.

“…Getting dressed?” John replied cockily.

“No.” Sherlock huffed and looked back over to see John pulling on a vest and a jumper, his stature and posture excessively self-assured. “Shouldn’t you want to…to talk? Or be expressing your desire to not talk? Or be suffering through some sort of sexuality calamity—?”

“I’m starving,” John cut in as he slipped on his shoes and strolled over, nudging Sherlock’s side and then patting Sherlock’s backside twice, “Let’s get some breakfast.”

Sherlock frowned and after a second of silence, zipped up his case and followed John out of the room, trailing after him as John all but swaggered down the stairs into the main dinning room. Everyone present turned to look at them as they entered and Sherlock stuttered and slowed down with dawning realisation, walking to where John was choosing a table at the back of the room. One woman looked pointedly at his neck and he touched the bruises there automatically, flushing under her knowing grin and friendly wink. Some others were disgusted and angered, and when Sherlock past by them, they muttered under their breath or got up and left, throwing dirty looks over their shoulders. John seemed oblivious to it all and smiled up at Sherlock when he finally chose a table and sat down, nodding to the chair beside him for Sherlock to join him as he reached for the menu and scanned the contents, his fingers playing with the edge absentmindedly. He looked overly pleased with himself and amused, and Sherlock stared shrewdly at him for two long moments, trying to work out what John was thinking or feeling or even planning, but coming up empty handed with a shaky sigh.

Once Sherlock decisively went to sit at John’s other side, closer to the window near them, and only noticed the mischievous expression on John’s face at the last moment, incapable of preventing John’s frisky action as John pushed his upturned hand onto the chair first with rapid speed so Sherlock sat right into his palm and flexing fingers. Sherlock inhaled sharply in response with an unmanly squeak, jolting upward and knocking his knees into the underside of the table as John pinched brazenly and Sherlock’s face flushed hot. Unable to voice any sort of object or question, Sherlock merely gaped at him and shifted, sneaking an embarrassed glance around the room while he tucked his chair in and allowed John to move the hand up to rest on his lower back instead, powerless to stop the shooting of pleasurable tingles at the touch. John gave him a quick look and then hooked his foot around one leg of Sherlock’s chair, dragging him closer with an upturning of his mouth, sharing the menu with him.

“What do you fancy?” John asked him nonchalantly with a wicked gleam in his eyes and a cheeky, boyish grin. He scanned the spontaneous look Sherlock gave him and then arched his eyebrow. “Can’t we discuss it later?”

“No,” Sherlock told him instantly, narrowing his eyes and then straightening his spine when John’s hand stroked soothing circles up and down his back. 

John sighed and leaned his other arm onto the table, “You’re really thrown by this, aren’t you? – What did you expect? Something bad I suppose?”

“Certainly not…this,” Sherlock admitted and swallowed at the rising memory of the night before, his bruises throbbing with his heartbeat again. “I thought you’d…want to forget about it. Treat it like a one off and…pretend it didn’t happen…”

“Well, yeah, I did want that at first,” John shrugged and looked away to pick at the edge of the menus nervously, “but…afterwards, I thought about it as the haze evaporated, and then this morning, when you sneaked off to have another shower, I…thought about it again and, well, I realised it wasn’t really a big deal—Don’t get me wrong, I’m still pretty pissed off at you for what you did, having me think you were someone you weren’t and tricking and basically taking advantage of me—”

Sherlock grimaced, “I didn’t mean for it to be like that. I just wasn’t thinking…evidently…”

“Hm,” John agreed and leaned toward him slowly, “That aside though, you know, I enjoyed it in the end and…you enjoyed it. Not to mention I like you and you obviously like me – Right?”

Sherlock nodded shyly, keeping his gaze down on his lap with a clenching and sickening turning of his stomach, “But…”

“Nothing wrong with what we did,” John told him before Sherlock could carry on talking, “I didn’t think I’d ever do something like that, but, that’s not to say I’m against it now I’ve done it. Far from it, actually – And I’m fine with it. I am. I really, really am. There was always something between us, wasn’t there? We both felt it. Everyone and their dog saw it. So I’m not really that surprised about last nights turn of events.”

“You’re not gay,” Sherlock intoned, not exactly stating it or asking it.

“No,” John murmured, “I’m not gay – I might be a bit bisexual though. Or…yousexual.”

Sherlock glanced at John’s grinning face and felt his own mouth twitch, “What if this interferes with…things? – I don’t do relationships.”

“Yeah you do,” John argued and curled his arm around Sherlock’s waist, pulling him close. “You’ve been doing it for a while now. We both have. We just didn’t fully acknowledge it.”

Sherlock shrewdly eyed John from the corner of his gaze, “Since when did you get all conversant?”

“Last night and this morning, like I told you,” John smirked and then suddenly reached up to run his fingers through Sherlock’s drying hair, pushing it back to expose more of his temple. “You’re really attractive, you know. And not in the generic and typical way – In fact, you’re pretty weird and unique looking—”

“Is this meant to be a compliment?” Sherlock snorted with a frown, laughing when John’s smirk widened and he stroked the corner of Sherlock’s jaw with the tip of his index finger.

“Is this okay then?” John asked him cheerfully.

Sherlock looked away for a moment and then cleared his throat, “If I said…no – Would you find someone else?”

John sighed through his nose and leaned back on his chair, “In time, maybe. I don’t know,” he mumbled and gave Sherlock a considering look. “Nothing has to start straight away. I was pretty happy with what I had with you to begin with to be honest…but if you wanted to do things like we did last night, I’d be up for it. – You really do have a great arse.”

Sherlock huffed out a laugh and with yet another blooming blush, “Do I?”

“God yes,” John replied, reusing past words and smiling widely with a knowing lift of his eyebrows. “Okay?”

“Yes,” Sherlock whispered and couldn’t stop the crooked but huge honest smile that spread across his face, trembling with the force of his heartbeat when John slid his hand over one of Sherlock’s. 

John squeezed his hand tightly and then suddenly got up, “I’ll be right back,” he murmured and nodded over to the figure of Mrs Parkinson, “I just need to ask her if it’s okay to leave our luggage here for a bit – And possibly apologise for the racket from last night.”

“Ah. Yes,” Sherlock muttered with a knowing wince, and leaned into John’s hand as he patted Sherlock’s shoulder and jogged off to charmingly smile and converse with the owner, nervously scratching the back of his neck when she playfully folded her arms and looked strict. Sherlock watched him for another few moments more and then turned to look out the nearby window, buzzing and jittery with a bombardment of thoughts.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback fuels me!
> 
> [Gem's Tumblr](http://gem-gem-bites.tumblr.com/)


End file.
